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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025106">Catch us in the mirror (it looks a lot like love)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tails89/pseuds/Tails89'>Tails89</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Always a Happy Ending, Domestic Sterek is my kink, Good Alpha Derek Hale, M/M, Mates, Minor Oc Characters, Mutual Pining, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Sterek Secret Santa 2020, minor smut, so minor, sterek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:34:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,691</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tails89/pseuds/Tails89</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re lucky to have found a mate like Stiles.” </p><p>“Mm,” Derek nods, eyes following Stiles back towards the house. The words sink in and he freezes, mind frantically replaying every interaction he’s had with Stiles over the last few days, wondering how they could have possibly given her that impression. </p><p>Stiles is- he’s Stiles. He’s funny and smart and kind and— they’re not mates, no matter how much Derek might wish otherwise.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>618</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Sterek Secret Santa - Edition 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Catch us in the mirror (it looks a lot like love)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkward/gifts">ravenclawkward</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy Christmas! I hope you enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Derek catches the first hint of the scent as he fits the key into the lock. Traces of vanilla, cinnamon and the earthy tang of petrichor hang in the air— it’s a scent he’s become thoroughly acquainted with over the last few years.</p><p>He pushes open the front door, prompting the scent to waft through and envelope him like a warm hug.</p><p>“How did you get in?” He asks, not even looking at the figure sprawled across his couch. Moving through to the kitchen, Derek sets down his paper bag of groceries. “Actually, how did you get here?” He asks, turning. He hadn’t seen the Jeep on his way in.</p><p>“Oh, you know.” Stiles wanders in after him, hopping up onto the counter beside the fridge. “<em>Magic</em>.” He punctuates the word with jazz hands.</p><p>Derek huffs fondly, rolling his eyes and reaching for the milk. “Don’t you have friends you can annoy instead?”</p><p>“Good try big guy,” Stiles teases, helping Derek by handing him things out of the bag. “I’m here for the pack meeting.”</p><p>“You’re three hours early.”</p><p>“I’m super punctual.” Stiles swings his legs, knocking his heels into the cupboard door beneath him. “<em>Oh</em>.” His legs still suddenly and he drops down from the counter. “You got mail.” He disappears out of the room for a minute, returning with a letter, still talking. “Like, who even sends mail anymore? I swear werewolves live in the stone ages.”</p><p>Derek snatches the envelope Stiles is waving in his face, tearing it open to scan the letter inside.</p><p>“It’s the Robertson pack.”</p><p>“The who pack?” Stiles peers at the letter over Derek’s shoulder, trying to read along. Saving him the effort, Derek passes it over when he’s done.</p><p>“The Robertson pack took me and Laura in after the fire,” Derek explains, moving to lean against the bench. “Their Alpha, Sarah, knew my mom when they were young.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you stay with them?” Stiles asks, folding up the letter. “You and Laura lived in New York on your own. Wouldn’t it have been better to stay with another pack?”</p><p>Derek shakes his head. “I wanted to, but- Laura had just become Alpha. It made things difficult. So, we left. We kept in touch for a while, but after coming back here, after Laura’s death and everything that happened with Peter… we just lost touch.”</p><p>“Until now?” Stiles hands back the letter. “They’re asking permission to enter the territory.”</p><p>Nodding, Derek takes it, unfolding and refolding the paper carefully in his hands. “I’ve never hosted another pack before. Mom did it a couple of times.”</p><p>“What does it involve?”</p><p>“It varies depending on the pack. We would offer them a place to stay and a meal. The Robertson are old family friends so it will probably be a little more informal. More like… what does your dad do when extended family comes around?”</p><p>“He hides the good whiskey,” Stiles jokes. “But seriously, this is awesome and, as your emissary, I can help you plan.”</p><p>With a roll of his eyes, Derek turns from the kitchen. “You’re not my emissary.”</p><p>“Why not?” Stiles whines, trailing behind the werewolf. “I’d be <em>so</em> good at it.”</p><p>“At planning or being my emissary?”</p><p>“Por qué no los dos?” Stiles says it with an exaggerated wink, dropping back down onto the couch.</p><p>***</p><p>By six pm the rest of the pack have arrived, and the house is full of loud voices, lively conversation and laughter.</p><p>It’s taken a long time to reach this point—a point where the pack trust Derek as their Alpha, and each other. A point where a pack get together feels like… <em>family.</em></p><p>Looking around the room, something swells in Derek’s chest at the sight of Kira and her swollen belly. Sandwiched between Stiles and Erica on the couch, she’s guiding their hands to feel the baby’s kicking.</p><p>His gaze flicks across Stiles, laughing at something Erica says, his head thrown back exposing the long line of his neck. A lot of this was Stiles’ doing.</p><p>Stiles was the one who had instituted pack night. He’d called it compulsory fun night. He’d begged and bullied every single one of them into gathering at the site of the old Hale house and had turned up with Lacrosse sticks and movies. He’d forced Derek to use his words when he was feeling frustrated and encouraged communication with the pack.</p><p>Derek had wanted nothing more than for the pack to bond together properly, so he had done as Stiles told him and in doing so, he’d built his confidence as an Alpha.</p><p>Stiles looks up suddenly, catching Derek’s eye from across the room, and winks, before turning back to Kira without even breaking from their conversation. Derek feels his face flush and ducks back into the kitchen to finish cooking.</p><p>This was something Derek had initiated. Everyone takes a turn providing for the pack, whether it’s a home cooked meal or take out.</p><p>Derek’s made tacos. He sets out meat and salsa and guacamole on the counter so that everyone can serve themselves and starts building his own before the <em>literal</em> wolves descend.</p><p>It becomes a free for all after that. Derek snatches his plate and his beer and escapes to the living room. The rest of the pack follow suit, finding places to perch and eat. The house has a more formal dining room, but they really only eat in there on special occasions, preferring to sprawl out in front of the TV.</p><p>“Hey.” Stiles drops down onto the couch beside Derek, almost toppling his tacos off his plate. He rescues one, jamming it onto his mouth and crunching down. “So, I spoke to Lydia and she said she can help with planning this pack get together thing.” He continues to talk around another mouthful of food, and it should be gross, but it’s just <em>so</em> Stiles.</p><p>“Uh huh.” Derek rescues Stiles’ beer before he sends it flying. “So, if Lydia’s in charge I guess should I be pulling out the tux?”</p><p>With a snort, Stiles retrieves his drink and drains the bottle. “You own a tuxedo? I don’t believe you have ever worn a suit in your life.”</p><p>“Hey, I have hidden depths,” Derek counters. “I could own a tux.”</p><p>“I’d like to see that.” Stiles smirks and brings his beer back to his lips, seemingly forgetting that the bottle is empty. He lowers it quickly, face flushing—though, maybe that’s just the glow from the TV.  Derek tries not to dwell on it.</p><p>Sometime around midnight the pack start to either filter out or upstairs. The house is big enough for everyone to stay over if need be, Derek made sure of that when building it, but he’s the only one who lives there full time—most of the pack have houses closer to town.</p><p>Derek doesn’t mind that they’re all spread out. There’s always someone over at any given time—usually Stiles. Speaking of, Stiles is sprawled out on the couch, snoring gently.</p><p>“Hey.” Derek wakes the spark gently. “You want to crash here?”</p><p>Stiles stretches on the couch, his shirt riding up to reveal the pale skin of his stomach. “Wha’ time izzit?”</p><p>“Almost one.”</p><p>“Oh.” Stiles sits up slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, thanks.” He shuffles off towards the downstairs bathroom and Derek finishes unpacking the dishwasher. “Can I borrow a sweater?” He asks when he returns, his hands wrapped around his body to ward off the chill in the air. It’s two weeks until Christmas and winter has finally settled across Beacon Hills.</p><p>“Sure, come on.” Derek puts the last plate away and leaves the kitchen, heading to his bedroom. Stiles follows him upstairs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed while Derek digs through his drawers. “Here.”</p><p>Stiles takes the sweater and shrugs it on over his head. They’re the same height, but Stiles is not as broad as Derek so the sweater hangs, just a little, on his lanky frame. He paws his hands up in the sleeves and flops back onto the bed.</p><p>“I’m so tired,” he whines.</p><p>“Then go find <em>your</em> bed,” Derek tells him, nudging Stiles to move. “This one’s mine.”</p><p>“Can’t move. Too sleepy.”</p><p>“<em>Stiles.</em>”</p><p>“Can’t hear you. I’m already asleep.”</p><p>With a quick shove, Derek sends Stiles tumbling to the floor.</p><p>“Rude.” Picking himself up off the floor, Stiles sticks his tongue out at Derek and trots off to his room.</p><p>***</p><p>Three days later the whole pack gathers at Derek’s house.</p><p>Lydia, as always, has outdone herself with the spread. There is enough food and meat to feed a small army and she has the wolves all rotating through shifts on the spit. The rest of the pack are put to work moving tables and chairs out onto the wide green lawn.</p><p>Up on the porch, Isaac has set up speakers to play music while they work.</p><p>“One of the wards just triggered,” Stiles says, grinning as he sets down his armload of plates and cutlery. “Must be them.”</p><p>Twenty minutes later Boyd is the first to cock his head to catch the faint rumble of a car turning on to the winding track that leads up to the house. By the time their visitors pull up onto the grass, everyone (bar Scott and Jackson on spit duty) is gathered around on the porch.</p><p>“Alpha Robertson,” Derek greets walking up to the newly arrived group.</p><p>“Alpha Hale.” The werewolf’s mouth ticks up in a smile. “It’s good to see you Derek. It’s been too long.”</p><p>“It has.” Derek returns the smile. “Sarah, this is my pack,” he says, turning and gesturing to the curious faces lining the porch. He almost knocks his hands into Stiles, who is hovering a half-step behind him.”</p><p>“Stiles Stilinski,” he says pushing forward, arm outstretched in greeting. “Pack emissary.”</p><p>Derek barely restrains rolling his eyes in front of the older Alpha, turning to hide his face under the guise of beckoning forward the rest of the pack. After they’ve made their introductions, Sarah introduces the pack to her husband and three children, Alex, Mark and Lilah.</p><p>“So, what brings you out our way?” Stiles asks as they all walk back up to the house.</p><p>“My eldest joined the Thomson pack earlier this year,” Sarah explains. “We’re heading up to visit for Christmas.”</p><p>“She’s gonna have a baby,” the youngest kid, Alex, offers shyly from behind his mom.</p><p>“Oh, that’s cool,” Stiles tells him. “So, you’re going to be an uncle. I’m going to be an uncle soon too,” he says with a conspiratorial whisper and a head nod towards Kira.</p><p>“We’re not much for flying,” Sarah continues, “and we thought the trip might be a good opportunity to visit.”</p><p>Nodding, Stiles leads the way into the house. “Derek said you were friends with Talia.”</p><p>“We’re actually related.” Sarah grins when Stiles skids to an abrupt halt. “Third cousins?”</p><p>“Through Dad,” Derek confirms.</p><p>“What?” Stiles turns to Derek. “But you said- I thought your dad was human.”</p><p>“He was.”</p><p>“Huh. Cool.”</p><p>They show their visitors to their guest rooms so they can put down their bags and then take them outside.</p><p>Dinner is a rowdy affair.</p><p>There are fifteen of them crowded around the two long tables that have been dragged onto the grass. Once the younger members of the Robertson pack, namely Alex and his older brother Mark, get over the shyness of meeting strangers it’s every man for himself as the food is laid out.</p><p>“So, who’s manning the fort back home?” Stiles asks, leaning across Derek to talk to Sarah.</p><p>“Stiles,” Derek warns, nudging the human away from his plate. “You can’t ask that, it’s not polite.”</p><p>“Oh, sorry,” Stiles says, looking genuinely apologetic, but then he barrels on anyway. “I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just this guy here-” he pauses to bat at Derek’s shoulder “-keeps telling me we can’t leave the territory unguarded whenever I try to suggest getting away for a few days.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Sarah is quick to reassure them. “My sister is looking after things while we’re gone. And Derek’s right when it comes to new packs.”</p><p>Derek raises his eyebrows at Stiles as if to say, ‘I told you so’ and ducks another playful swipe.</p><p>“But you’ve been Alpha for what, seven years now?” She asks. “And Beacon Hills has been Hale Pack territory for, I don’t know, generations, not to mention those wards we passed on the way in.” Sarah points to Stiles. “That was you?”</p><p>Stiles nods quickly. “Yep.” He accepts the bowl of baked potatoes from Boyd. “So, what you’re saying is that Derek needs to get out more? ‘Cos that’s what I’m hearing.”</p><p>“I’m saying that it’s okay to take a break occasionally.”</p><p>Stiles laughs, his knees knocking into Derek’s under the table. “Derek doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”</p><p>***</p><p>The full moon falls two days after the Robertson’s arrive and Derek invites Sarah and her family to run with them through the preserve.</p><p>It’s a Saturday and most of the pack have taken the weekend off, so they spend the day at the pack house, working off the restless energy that comes with a full moon. As the afternoon rolls on the games get rougher and someone digs out the lacrosse sticks.</p><p>“Count me in.” Stiles jogs over with Scott and Isaac and snatches up one of the sticks, twirling it in his hands.</p><p>“Is that a good idea?” Mark, the middle Robertson child, asks. “A human playing against werewolves?” He looks to Derek, tone dripping with cocky arrogance but Derek just shrugs.</p><p>“Oh, to have the confidence of a fifteen-year-old werewolf,” Stiles sighs, scooping up the ball. “I could have used some of that as a teenager.”</p><p>“Could have used some of the athleticism too,” Derek quips, knocking Stiles with one shoulder.</p><p>“Oh, you can shove it,” Stiles grins stumbling away, still in possession of the ball. “You playing or what kid?”</p><p>“Fine,” the young werewolf shrugs. “It’s your funeral.” His eyes flash gold.</p><p>“That’s not that impressive,” Stiles tells him. “I can do it too.”</p><p>“But you’re not a wolf.”</p><p>“So many doubters today.” He closes his eyes for a moment and when they re-open they shine bright with the power of his spark.</p><p>“You going to play or just keep showing off?” Boyd asks.</p><p>Stiles grins, playfully baring his teeth “Oh, it’s on.”</p><p>The moon finally breaches the horizon just after four pm. It’s not yet dark enough to go running through the preserve, but some wolves start shedding clothes and skin, sprouting fur as they shift from two legs to four.</p><p>The lacrosse game is forgotten in favour of chasing each other around the clearing.</p><p>“Don’t even think about it,” Stiles warns, backing away from Derek. “We will not be playing chase the human tonight.”</p><p>Grinning wolfishly, smile wide and full of teeth, Derek makes a big show of slowing kicking his sneakers off.</p><p>“I’m not kidding Der, I <em>will</em> end you.”</p><p>“Better start running,” Derek teases, pulling his shirt up over his head. From the corner of his eye, he can see the rest of his pack watching with various shades of amusement.</p><p>“Fuck you buddy.”</p><p>Derek can tell there’s no heat behind the words and Stiles is trying to hold back a smile. He’s bolting off around the house before Derek’s shirt has even hit the ground.</p><p>“Go on then,” Stiles says once it’s finally dark enough to enter the preserve. “Pick on Stiles time is over; I need a nap after that.” He sprawls out on his back in the grass, staring up at the sky. It’s a clear, cool night.</p><p>Derek stands over him, nosing at Stiles’ hair then swinging his head towards the trees. He takes a half step, waiting for Stiles to follow.</p><p>“I think I’m going to hang here with the women and children,” Stiles says, craning his head back. “I’ll just slow you down. You have fun though.” He reaches up to tangle his fingers in Derek’s coarse fur before giving him a gentle shove towards the forest. “Go on.”</p><p>With one final glance over his shoulder, Derek trots off into the trees.</p><p>***</p><p>By the time they return to the house, everyone is exhausted. Derek immediately searches out Stiles as he re-enters the clearing. He’s easy enough to find, sitting by the dying bonfire chatting to Kira. The red glowing embers illuminate their faces and cast deep shadows across the lawn.</p><p>Derek pads over to them, drawn to Stiles like a moth to flame, flopping down in the grass beside Stiles.</p><p>“Good run?” Stiles asks, slumping back so that he’s half leaning against Derek. The werewolf lets out a soft contented rumble. “Mm, glad to hear it,” Stiles mumbles around a yawn.</p><p>“Ugh, it’s late,” Kira complains from where she sits. “I think I’m going to call it a night. I’ll see you boys tomorrow.” She stands with Scott’s help, and waddles back towards the house.</p><p>“I think I’m going to call it too.” Stiles pats Derek on the shoulder and stands slowly, taking the time to stretch before heading inside.</p><p>Derek waits until he’s inside before he heads off in search of his discarded clothes, still sitting and collecting dew on the grass. He shifts, picking up his sweatpants and shaking them out. He pulls them on and makes his way towards the porch.</p><p>“You should be proud of what you’ve created here.” Sarah joins him at the top of the steps. They lean against the porch railing and watch the wolves still sprawled out in the grass after the run. “You’ve built a strong pack. I know Talia would be proud of you.”</p><p>Derek ducks his head. There’s a warm feeling in his stomach at the Alpha’s words. “I didn’t think I’d find this again.” He confesses, voice low. “And, for a while I didn’t think deserved it.”</p><p>There’s a familiar footfall behind them and the comforting scent of cinnamon and vanilla.</p><p>“Hey, sorry to interrupt.” Stiles wanders up beside them. “Can I borrow a sweater?”</p><p>“Did you return the last one you ‘borrowed’?” Derek asks.</p><p>“Hey,” Stiles leans against him, one arm slung across Derek’s shoulders. “It’s not my fault your clothes are so damn comfy. If you didn’t want me taking them, you should have bought cheaper, scratchier sweaters. Ever think about that Der?”</p><p>“Fine,” Derek gives in quickly, waving Stiles off before he can launch into another tirade on the superiority of Derek’s sweaters.</p><p>“Thanks.” Stiles trots off, letting his hand trail across Derek’s back.</p><p>“You guys are good together,” Sarah says, her voice warm. “You’re lucky to have found a mate like Stiles.”</p><p>“Mm,” Derek nods, eyes following Stiles back towards the house. The words sink in and he freezes, mind frantically replaying every interaction he’s had with Stiles over the last few days, wondering how they could have possibly given her that impression.</p><p>Stiles is- he’s Stiles. He’s funny and smart and kind and— they’re not mates, no matter how much Derek might wish otherwise.</p><p>Still, he doesn’t correct her.</p><p>Instead, he makes some mumbled excuse about being tired and escapes to his bedroom.</p><p>That, at least, is the truth. It’s been a long night and now the sun is just beginning to peek up over the horizon. Derek feels as though he could sleep for a week as he climbs the stairs to the second level and throws his bedroom door open ready to crawl beneath the covers.</p><p>“Stiles.” He nudges the lump half hidden under the covers. “This isn’t your bed.”</p><p>The younger man murmurs something unintelligible and rolls onto his side.</p><p>With a sigh, Derek pulls back the covers, and climbs into bed.</p><p>***</p><p>He’s warm when he wakes.</p><p>So, very warm.</p><p>There’s a line of cinnamon scented heat pressed down the length his chest. Lying there in the soft space between sleep and wakefulness, Derek feels more comfortable that he ever has in his life.</p><p>And then the warm body in front of him shifts and Derek is suddenly very aware that <em>Stiles </em>is that warm body. He must have pulled him in to his chest at some point while they slept.</p><p>Carefully drawing back the arm that had been casually slung across Stiles’ waist, Derek wiggles back on the bed so that he’s no longer pressed up against his packmate. The sheets are gathered around their waists, hiding Derek’s rather unfortunate issue, but it doesn’t hide the pale expanse of skin where Stiles’ sweater has ridden up over his side.</p><p>With a bitten-off sigh Derek rolls out of bed and stumbles across to the bathroom.</p><p>He stands, head bowed beneath the spray and lets the pounding water rinse away the dirt and sweat that still clung from the full moon run. He tries not to think about the fact he’s still hard, and lets his mind drift, but his thoughts keep coming back to Stiles, stretched out in Derek’s own bed.</p><p>With one hand coming up to brace against the wall, Derek palms himself with the other. He allows a single flash of guilt before letting his thoughts drift back to the bed, to the hollow of Stiles throat. He starts slow, working up to a quick rhythm and biting back a soft moan.</p><p>He’s close, the pleasure starting to pool in his gut and Derek increases the pace. His mind wanders to the dip of Stiles’ hips between the ruched-up shirt and the low-slung sleep shorts. His own hips jerk in short aborted thrusts and he comes with a swallowed curse.</p><p>After washing away the evidence, Derek cuts the running water and reaches for a towel.</p><p>Stiles is still asleep when Derek re-enters the room, so he dresses quickly and slips out the door. The house is quiet, with most wolves having only gone to bed a few hours ago, but there’s a soft clatter of someone moving about downstairs.</p><p>“You’re up early,” Derek says, stepping into the kitchen.</p><p>Scott stifles a yawn with the back of his hand and gestures to the coffee maker that has just beeped. “The baby is awake,” he mutters, reaching for the pot. “Which means Kira is awake, which means <em>I </em>am awake.” He pours himself a generous serving, filling the mug up to the rim, then passes the pot over. “Why are you up?”</p><p>“Sarah thinks Stiles is my mate.” The words come out in a rush.</p><p>“Yeah? And?”</p><p>“What do you mean ‘and’?”</p><p>“I mean…” Scott looks uncertain. “What’s the problem? Was that all she said?”</p><p>“She said we’re good together.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“<em>Scott.”</em></p><p>“What?” Scott leans back against the counter. “You <em>are! </em>You’re like the pack mom and dad.”</p><p>Derek waves him off. “Stiles doesn’t even like me like that!”</p><p>Scott scoffs against the rim of his mug. “What are you talking about? Stiles is crazy about you.”</p><p>“No, he’s not.”</p><p>“Dude, can’t you smell it? He’s like, super aroused around you, like <em>all the time</em>.”</p><p>“That’s just Stiles’ scent. He always smells like that.”</p><p>“No, he doesn’t.”</p><p>Derek’s expression goes blank. “He doesn’t?”</p><p>Shaking his head, Scott continues. “It’s only when he’s around you… or talking about you… or thinking about you. It’s super gross.”</p><p>“I didn’t know.”</p><p>“He’s over here all the time! He’s asleep in your bed right now- don’t give me that look, you reek of Stiles.” Scott refills his mug and moves to pat Derek on the arm. “He likes you man, like, really, really likes you. Honestly, you’d have to be blind not to see it.”</p><p>***</p><p>The Robertson pack head off the next morning once everyone is well rested. There are fewer people around to see them off— Scott had been called in to an emergency at the vet and Erica had dragged Boyd off to visit her parents.</p><p>“It was really good to see you Derek. Please don’t be a stranger.” Derek lets himself be bundled up in a hug before Sarah moves on to say goodbye to the rest of the pack. “Stiles, you make sure to remind that stubborn mate of yours to take a break every now and then.”</p><p>Watching from the corner of his eye, Derek can’t quite read Stiles’ facial expression. If he’s surprised, he certainly doesn’t say anything, just returns the Alpha’s hug and cheerfully waves until the car disappears down the driveway.</p><p>Once they’re gone, Derek makes his excuses and escapes to his bedroom. Despite Scott’s assurances, he still hasn’t said anything to Stiles.</p><p>“We need to talk.”</p><p>Derek starts so badly at the voice in his room. “How do you keep getting in?” He asks, turning to face the doorway.</p><p>“<em>Magic</em>.”</p><p>“Still not funny.”</p><p>“Uh, it’s hilarious,” Stiles says, grinning.</p><p>“The door was locked Stiles.”</p><p>“I know, figured you were either moping about something or jerking off. Decided to take my chances.” He walks into the room, shutting the door behind him and leans against the far wall. “Anyway, you’re dressed, so you probably weren’t jerking off, what’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing’s wrong.”</p><p>“You’ve been avoiding me since yesterday, something’s wrong.” He’s still smiling, but Stiles’ scent has turned tart with concern.</p><p>“It was nothing, just something Alpha Robertson said.”</p><p>“I like her.” Stiles gazes at Derek thoughtfully. He pushes away from the wall and crosses the room to sit on the bed. “She seems like a good Alpha.”</p><p>“She is.”</p><p>“You’re a good Alpha too.”</p><p>Derek smiles, ducking his head. It’s high praise coming from Stiles.</p><p>“A little clueless sometimes...”</p><p>The smile drops from his face.</p><p>“Let me guess.” Stiles leans forward, his arms braced against his knees. “Your current mopey face has something to do with what Sarah said before?”</p><p>Derek can’t look at him, he stares at the patterns in the carpet instead.</p><p>“The other night, she called us mates and you didn’t correct her.”</p><p>Derek’s stomach drops as his head jerks up. “You heard that?”</p><p>“It wasn’t exactly whispered. She said it right as I was leaving. Why-” Stiles swallows audibly. “Why didn’t you correct her?”</p><p>Letting out the breath he’s been holding, Derek asks, “Why didn’t you?”</p><p>He watches Stiles’ face carefully, scrutinising every little expression that flickers across his face in that second, reading the exact moment he makes up his mind with the slight lift of one brow and the uptick at the corners of his mouth.</p><p>“I wanted it to be true.”</p><p>Derek can only imagine what his own face must look like, caught someplace between shock and joy at Stiles’ words. His grin is probably bordering on manic when he says, “me too.”</p><p>“Oh. That’s-” Stiles licks his lips and tries again. “Good. That’s good. I’m, uh-” His gaze flick from Derek’s eyes to his lips. “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Stiles’ hand hooks into the Derek’s shirt, drawing him in. Fingers tangle in his hair and then Stiles’ lips are on his, warm and urgent.</p><p>When they pull away from each other Stiles laughs, knocking his knees into Derek’s.</p><p>“I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*Epilogue*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The glare from the window falls right across Derek’s face and he shifts, slowly surfacing from the depths of sleep. He drags his arm up to cover his face, provoking a grunt from the person who’d been using it as a pillow.</p><p>Stiles shifts, rolling over to blink up at Derek.</p><p>“Morning.”</p><p>“Morning.”</p><p>Derek throws his arm over Stiles’ hip, dragging him in so their bodies are flush. “You’re in my bed.”</p><p>“Nuh uh, it’s my bed now,” Stiles teases sleepily, stealing a quick kiss before tucking his head under Derek’s chin.  “Oh.” He pulls away suddenly and rolls to the edge of the bed, leaning over to rummage around underneath it. Sitting back up, he holds out a present wrapped in brightly coloured paper. “Happy birthday.”</p><p>Derek sits up against the pillows and takes the parcel. “Thank you.”</p><p>“I got you a Christmas present too,” Stiles says. “But you can’t open it until we get to Dad’s.” He gestures for Derek to unwrap the paper. “It’s not much.”</p><p>“It’s perfect.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh boy, I had real fear I wasn't going to get this finished... but I got there. </p><p>Ravenclawkward-- I really enjoyed writing this for you and I hope you like it!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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